


Five Times Stiles was Cock-Blocked and One Time He Cock-Blocked Himself

by blue_jack



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 5 Times, Alternate Universe, Crack, M/M, Size Kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-02
Updated: 2015-04-08
Packaged: 2018-03-20 23:17:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3668865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_jack/pseuds/blue_jack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles kept telling himself he wasn’t going to do this anymore, go to a random gay club in the city and find someone to fuck him until he had to limp home, but here he was.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I actually started this as an Avengers fic over on tumblr, but I thought it'd fit Stiles better, so here we are. FYI, as the title indicates, there will probably be no actual porn in this, just teases of it. <3

Stiles kept telling himself he wasn’t going to do this anymore, go to a random gay club in the city and find someone to fuck him until he had to limp home, but here he was. Looking. Already lubed up and with condoms in his pocket, because he might be crazy, but he wasn’t stupid.

“You come here often?”

He pretended he hadn’t heard him. Who said that anymore? Like, did pick up lines cycle in the same way clothes did? Was it so bad it’d gotten good again? 

“I mean, I haven’t seen you around before,” the guy said, obviously realizing his mistake and trying to make it better, but really, just making it worse.

“Not interested,” Stiles said, because he did have standards even if he was just there to fuck, and anyone who used that as an opening conversational gambit obviously didn’t meet them.

“Alright,” the guy said after a long pause, and Stiles hadn’t planned on looking, totally wasn’t going to look, but he could hear the hang-doggedness in his voice, and then damn it, he looked, and woah. _Woah._

His hand shot out before he made the conscious decision to stop the guy. Well, that explained the terrible intro. With a face and body like that, he wasn’t the type to need to talk. 

Still. Stiles was a man on a mission.

“I only sleep with guys with big dicks,” he said matter-of-factly.

Eyebrows that had been caterpillars in a previous life raised up. “Okay.”

Stiles waited, but that was it. “So?”

“So what?”

“Do you have a Big Cock?” he said, enunciating and adding capitals where necessary.

The guy looked down. Stiles did as well, and they both stared at the bulge in his pants.

“It’s . . . a decent size,” he said, and Stiles rolled his eyes.

“A decent size for a Chihuahua? Or a decent size for King Kong?”

He got a faintly appalled look for his trouble, but whatever. Priorities.

“It’s about, I don’t know, eight inches,” the guy said a little uncertainly, “and it’s pretty thick?” 

Stiles narrowed his eyes. Was that a question? Hadn’t he ever broken out a ruler and measured? Who didn’t measure? And how thick was ‘pretty thick?’ That totally wasn’t a standard unit of measurement. Besides, everyone said they were thick, but in reality . . . not so much. Width made a huge difference, and Stiles actually preferred it to length, although to have both would be . . .

“So like this?” Stiles asked. He spread his hands to about six inches apart, because asking a guy about his dick size was like inviting him to talk about the fish he’d once caught that was _this big_ without any evidence to back him up, and he wanted to bring things back into the realm of reality. “And this?” he continued, making a circle with his finger and thumb about the size of toilet paper roll.

“Um, more like this,” the guy said, and at least he knew what about eight inches was, Stiles would give him that. But then he used both hands to create a circle that was _way_ bigger than Stiles had made, and Handel’s Hallelujah Chorus, his prayers had been answered.

Or at least, they might have. Stiles’ eyes narrowed. 

“Prove it.”

\-----

They went the bathroom, because of course they did. Stiles kind of felt like a walking cliche, but while there were several dark corners they could use, they were dark, and Stiles wanted to see before he touched. Besides, he’d get that much more excited if he knew what was going to plough into him, and the anticipation would be amazing.

Assuming the guy lived up to his claim.

He should probably find out what his name was, now that he thought about it.

“I’m Stiles!” he yelled as they walked across the dance floor, hand in hand so they wouldn’t lose each other. 

“What?”

“Stiles! My name is Stiles!”

“Wha—oh.”

They took a few more steps, and he rolled his eyes. The guy was apparently hot as fuck but not too quick on the uptake. Either that or he didn’t think it was worth exchanging names. Neither was a deal-breaker, but it did mean his cock had better be spectacular. “What’s your name?”

He looked back at Stiles, eyebrows raised like they wanted to take flight. Then he smiled, small and kind of adorable. “Derek!”

They finally got to the hallway leading to the bathrooms, and he could lower his voice. “Nice to meet you, Derek.”

He was half-expecting a suggestive “the pleasure’s all mine,” but Derek’s mouth quirked, and all he said was, “You too, Stiles.”

They didn’t say anything else as they waited their turn, and unlike many of the couples that were around them, they didn’t make out either. Stiles wasn’t really into casual kissing, and either Derek felt the same way, or he could tell Stiles wasn’t going to do anything until he got to see his dick. They didn’t drop hands, however, and it was a little weird to be holding the hand of someone he didn’t know, but it was kind of nice too. Derek had strong hands, covered in calluses, and Stiles could admit they’d probably feel incredible on his body, rubbing and tugging and pushing in . . .

Okay. It didn’t have to be spectacular, but it still had to be pretty damn nice.

They finally got a stall, and Stiles shoved Derek inside, locking it behind him and trying to avoid touching anything he didn’t have to. Public toilets made him cringe—all the germs—but the club had catered to its clientele, so the stalls were on the large side, and it wasn’t so bad.

“Show me what you got,” he said, folding his arms across his chest. His palm felt empty without Derek’s hand in it. He rubbed it against his bicep to get rid of the feeling.

Derek silently undid his pants, lowering them just enough to show his balls.

“That’s not eight inches,” Stiles said, knowing it was unfair since Derek wasn’t hard but saying it anyway. He could feel his own cock starting to swell at the view in front of him, but he ignored it. At least it did look on the thick side of things.

“Give me a sec,” Derek said, loosely gripping his cock and sliding his hand along its length, and Stiles got a little harder. “I don’t suppose you want to—”

“Nope.”

Derek shrugged.

A little while later, Stiles repeated, “That’s not eight inches,” but his voice was a lot huskier than it’d been a moment before.

Derek looked down thoughtfully, still going, long slow tugs that just seemed to exaggerate how much time it took to go from tip to base, and Stiles felt his knees go wobbly.

“I think the thickness distorts the length a bit.”

And maybe Derek was right. Maybe the fact that Derek’s cock was as wide across as a Coke can—okay, maybe not that wide, but Stiles bet it’d still feel that way going in—skewed his perceptions. But he was more than happy to have his perceptions skewed, because Derek’s cock was incredible. Eight inches? Stiles would’ve happily thought nine. Seriously, the guy should’ve been in porn and had dildos crafted in his honor, it was that good. He had to get it inside him tout de suite.

“Okay, let’s go,” he said, not breathless at all, and reached out to stop him, _accidentally_ brushing his fingers against the shaft. So accidentally. 

The little hitch of Derek’s breathing killed him, however, and he had to hear it again. And again. And before Stiles knew it, he’d taken over, pumping his hand up and down Derek’s length—hot and so thick that his fingers could barely close all the way around, and all he could think about was how it’d feel opening him up. Even though he’d stretched himself earlier, he hadn’t stretched himself enough for _this_ , and there was no way it wouldn’t hurt, wouldn’t make him groan and pant and beg Derek to take it slow. 

Fuck, he wanted that so much.

“Shit, I’m going to come if you keep looking at it like that,” Derek moaned, thrusting a little into his grip.

“Don’t you dare,” Stiles said, horrified, and started shoving it back into Derek’s pants.

“Ow! Hey! Shit! Will you stop?” Derek demanded as Stiles yanked up his boxers and then zipped his pants with perhaps a little too much force. Some guys were only good for the one orgasm, though, and he wasn’t going to risk it. Still, he gave it a quick pat as an apology.

“Time to go.”

\-----

Except it wasn’t time to go, because as he was walking outside, dragging Derek behind him, his phone started vibrating.

“No, no, no,” Stiles said under his breath, even as he reached for it. There were only a few people who’d be calling this late, which meant this was important, which meant it looked like there’d be an early end to Stiles’ Day for Deep Dicking. He checked the screen before answering.

“Scott?”

“Allison—” Scott’s voice hitched. “Allison broke up with me,” he said, and fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.

“I’ll be there in thirty,” he said, because while this wasn’t the first time Scott and Allison had broken up, and hopefully, they’d be back together again in a few days, it didn’t make Scott any less devastated. 

“Look,” he said, turning back to Derek after he’d hung up. “I’m sorry but I gotta go.”

“Is everything alright?” Derek asked, looking genuinely concerned, and Stiles was grateful that he wasn’t going to be an ass about things.

“Yeah. Well, no, my best friend just had his heart broken, and I’ve got to go and help him keep the pieces safe for a while.”

Derek blinked, but all he said was, “Can I give you a ride?”

He thought about it for a second, but it was a long drive back to Beacon Hills, and if Derek drove him to Scott’s, he’d feel like he should invite him upstairs, and then Scott wouldn’t be able to let his feelings out, and a trying-to-be-stoic Scott was a pitiful sight to see. 

“Thanks, but I’m good, man.”

“Could I get your number maybe? Or give you mine?” Derek asked, and for a second, Stiles was torn. He didn’t exchange numbers with his one-night-stands. It was one of his rules when he came out to the clubs, and maybe it was stupid, but he’d had it for so long that the thought of breaking it made him uncomfortable.

“Nevermind,” Derek said, his lips tilting up wistfully. “It was nice meeting you, Stiles,” he said and gave him a quick hug.

“You too, Derek.” He returned the hug a little sadly. Derek really did have a fabulous cock. “See you around,” he said, knowing he’d do no such thing.


	2. Chapter 2

And yet, he did. 

It was almost three weeks later, and he was standing in line at Bartley’s Burgers. Bartley’s was just a little hole in the wall place that looked like it needed a good scrubbing and fumigation, but it served some of the best damn burgers he’d ever eaten, and every now and then, he’d pick something up for his dad on the way home.

He’d already settled on his order—two double turkey burgers with grilled onions, one with special sauce, one without—when he turned around to look at the clock on the wall behind him and—

“Dick It!” Oh, fuck.

Derek’s eyebrows—which had almost become as infamous in Stiles’ memory as his cock—raised way up.

“What are you—do you live in Beacon Hills, _Derek_?” he asked, emphasizing his name and praying that Derek would think he’d just heard wrong the first time, and not that Stiles had just called him “Dick It” because his friends had brainwashed him into referring to him that way—”It’s like Derek, but with a Dick!”—after the number of times he’d told his sad, sad story to his them.

“Yes,” Derek said, still looking suspicious and rightly so. “I moved here a few months ago.”

Well, shit, Stiles thought. The whole point of going into the city was to keep things anonymous, so almost hooking up with a fellow Beacon Hills-ite defeated the purpose.

“And you already found Bartleys,” Stiles said, smiling weakly.

“They have the best burgers here,” he said with all the solemnity it deserved. 

“I know!” Stiles said, momentarily alight with enthusiasm, because they really were crazy good, and he turned slightly to bump shoulders with him in a show of solidarity—or at least, that was what he’d intended to do, but it was more like he kind of tripped over his own feet and fell against him. What could he say, embarrassment made him spastic.

Dick It—damn it. Derek didn’t even seem to register the knock, though, hardly budging, although his hands did come up to steady Stiles, which he appreciated. Now, Stiles had been called many things in his life, thin, gangly, twinkalicious, but Derek was only like an inch taller than him, and considering how much force Stiles had accidentally used, he should’ve stumbled a bit or at least taken a step back.

The fact that he didn’t do either made Stiles wonder just how muscular Di—Derek was, and why hadn’t he asked to see the rest of the goods while they were in the damn bathroom anyway?

Although the goods he had seen had been _really_ good, he thought, sighing a little bit on the inside. 

What the hell, no use crying over spilled milk, right? Yeah, Derek lived in town, but they had a history now, and waste not, want not and all that jazz. Here they were. Again. The two of them in what could only be labelled an obvious pick-up joint—whatever, it was obvious if he said it was obvious—and Stiles had never gotten around to going back to any of the clubs, which meant he still deserved a Deep Dicking, and conveniently enough, there was Derek to provide it for him.

Coincidence?

He thought not.

“Shit, sorry,” Stiles said, straightening up and oh-so-subtly groping Diiiiii— _fuck_! Why was it so hard to use his actual name?— _Derek’s_ biceps in the process. 

Damn. Was everything on Derek large?

“That’s alright,” Derek said, and his hands were still holding onto Stiles’ arms, even though he’d gotten his balance back.

It made it so they were standing really close. Like, lean forward a couple of inches and they’d be kissing, they were that close.

How had he not noticed Derek’s eyes before? They were amazing, a light jade with streaks of gold and brown and blue, surrounded by jet black eyelashes that just made the colors pop that much more. It didn’t help that his eyes were filled with a surprising warmth that made Stiles’ heart thump a little faster, and Stiles blamed the horrible lighting in the club for not having paid enough attention to them before.

Well, not that he’d gotten to pay much attention to anything of Derek’s except his cock so far, but that definitely needed to be rectified.

Actually, he hadn’t gotten to pay even a tenth as much attention to Derek’s cock as he’d wanted to, so he just needed to spend more time with Derek, period.

Speaking of which, he should see if Derek was free. “Would you like to—?”

“Dude! Are you ordering or what?” an exasperated voice demanded, giving the impression it wasn’t the first time he’d asked, and Stiles looked around to see there was no one in front of him in line—although there were a lot of annoyed people behind them.

“Oh, crap, yeah,” Stiles said, taking a step back, and Derek’s hands fell away.

He hurried to the counter, feeling oddly flustered, and had to take a deep breath to clear his head. 

Weird. 

“I’ll have—shit, wait one sec,” he said to the guy—Todd, according to his nametag—who did not look like he wanted to wait even half that long, and he reached out and tapped Derek’s shoulder, relieved that he’d followed him—although that might have had something to do with the nature of being in a line. “I’ll be paying for him as well.”

“What?” Derek asked, caught off guard. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I know, but I just wanted to apologize for running off on you, and—”

“Stiles, really, it’s not—”

“If you two would like another minute to think things over,” Todd interrupted, through what might have been gritted teeth, “you could step aside and let the people behind you order.”

“No, it’s fine,” Stiles said, taking out his wallet and putting it down on the counter. “I’ve got it. You can always . . . thank me later,” he said, glancing at Derek from beneath his eyelashes. “You know, if you want to.”

“Just get a room already,” he thought he heard Todd mutter, but he ignored it in favor of seeing the small smile that bloomed on Derek’s face.

“Alright, then I’ll have the number 6 combo,” Derek said, and of course he ordered the double bacon heart attack. Of course he did.

Stiles was about to shake his head disapprovingly at him, but then he saw something on the menu that made Derek’s order look almost vegetarian in comparison, and Stiles just couldn’t pass up the opportunity to make a joke. It was against his religion.

“And I’ll have the Monster Burger,” he said, jabbing his finger at the picture of a burger with even more beef than Derek’s, plus pastrami, plus a few slices of what could possibly be turkey, although Stiles couldn’t tell from that far away. “What can I say?” he asked at Derek’s raised eyebrows. “I like a lot of meat between my buns.” 

Ba dum tssh.

“You’re going to need a bigger mouth,” Derek said, outright grinning, and Stiles had realized he was hot at the club, but he hadn’t done him justice. Smiling like that, Derek was gorgeous. Like win the golden apple, hands-down, crazy gorgeous.

And Stiles was going to sleep with him.

Score!

“You haven’t seen what I can fit—”

“Will that be all for you?” Todd said loudly, kind of glaring at the two of them, and righhhht, this was a family establishment, wasn’t it?

Stiles had intended to surprise his dad with the turkey burger, so he didn’t feel too bad about ditching him for the night. What he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him, and Stiles hopefully would have other plans very soon. So he paid for their two burgers and slipped a ten in the tips jar to make up for all the trouble, because he’d been on the other side of the counter during his first job, and that shit was hard. 

The biggest problem with Bartley’s was the lack of seating, although it might work in Stiles’ favor tonight, so the two of them stood off to the side while they waited for their orders.

“Hey, so, I’m glad we ran into each other,” Stiles said, fiddling with the straw of his drink to give himself something to do. He was tempted to take a sip, but he, straws, and impressing people did not go well together, something he’d unfortunately learned many times over the course of his life.

“So am I,” Derek said, and maybe they were standing a little closer than necessary, but Stiles couldn’t find it in himself to complain.

“Are you, uh, doing anything for the rest of the night?”

Derek started to respond.

“Because you could be,” Stiles said, and ugh, maybe he should stop being so critical about the guys who approached him with the lame pickup lines. Being witty in the face of someone attractive was impossible. “There’s nowhere to sit anyway, so we could head back to your place and stuff ourselves.” Man, it was like the jokes just wouldn’t stop. “If you wanted.”

Derek’s eyes crinkled, and seriously. Gorgeous.

“As a matter of fact—”

“Hey, Stiles, picking up dinner for you and your dad?” someone asked, and Stiles turned to see Deputy Jordan Parrish smiling genially back at him. Shit.

“Heeeeey, Jordan,” Stiles said, shifting in front of Derek, although what that would accomplish when Derek was both taller and wider than he was, he didn’t know. He could see Deep Dicking, take 2, going down in flames, however, and that was so depressing, he could cry. “Couldn’t resist Bartley’s call either, huh?”

“Best burgers in town,” Jordan said, but his eyes were drifting to Derek behind him, which was the last thing Stiles needed. Jordan was great at his job, but he had a bad habit of being a bit too honest with the boss, which meant Jordan would tell his dad about seeing Stiles at Bartley’s with a new guy—and while his dad might normally only be slightly curious about who Stiles was with, he’d be _outraged_ that Stiles had gone to Bartley’s without bringing him anything back. He’d want to know why and might even go into full Sheriff mode, trying to figure out who’d led Stiles astray.

“Yeah, I was just about to get in line,” he said, mentally saying goodbye to his Monster Burger. Ah well. Hopefully, Derek would enjoy it.

“Me too,” Jordan said, and Stiles beamed.

“Nice, you can keep me company.” He turned to Derek and mouthed ‘sorry’ at him. “Great catching up with you, dude.”

“Yeah,” Derek said, no traces of his previous smile to be found, and Stiles barely contained his wince. It was going to take a lot more than buying him a burger to make up for ditching Derek twice. Assuming they ever met up again.


End file.
